Chinese Leaders Unsettled By Dissent

BEIJING — Behind the thick red walls of the Chinese Kremlin, Zhongnanhai, the mood is grim. Outside, trouble is brewing.

Increasingly restive Tibet and a growing dissident movement are just the two latest manifestations of what several Chinese leaders fear is a gradual loss of control over their country.

This loss is pushing them in their nervousness toward authoritarianism. For the men who hold sway in Zhongnanhai are fearful of any spark that may set off serious social unrest at a time when their economic reforms are already causing discontent over spiraling inflation and unemployment.

Already, the signs are ominous. When Beijing imposed martial law in Tibet last month, it was the most repressive step the leadership has taken since it began its economic reforms and opening to the outside world a decade ago.

It was clear the martial law decision had been planned well ahead of the expected protests against Chinese rule, which marked the 30th anniversary of the exile of Tibet's spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama.

Like clockwork, the crackdown proceeded from the moment Tibetan nationalists took to the streets: immediate, dramatized reporting in the press to justify the measures, the expulsion of foreigners, the rapid deployment of forces on every street corner.

But this new conservative mood in Zhongnanhai is not just confined to the old problem of Tibet.

The leadership is also reacting harshly in other areas, particularly with a relatively novel problem for China: a growing dissident movement. Ironically, this dissent is largely a result of their reforms. Central control has been loosened and the influence of foreign ideas has become stronger.

Chinese leaders are surely comparing what they are facing with the experience of the Soviet Union, where serious dissent began in the mid-1960s with the trial of Yuli Daniel and Andrei Sinyavski.

But, if they look at Moscow's experience, they must also realize that they are in a Catch-22 situation: for as the Soviet authorities became more repressive, the dissident movement grew stronger. Yet Chinese leaders are clearly not ready for Mikhail Gorbachev-style glasnost and political reforms.

There is a whole spectrum of dissent springing up. Taken as a whole, these new challenging voices represent to Chinese authorities the first organized protests over human rights since the brief liberalization period in 1979, when Chinese put up outspoken posters at ''Democracy Wall'' in central Beijing.

At one extreme there is Fang Lizhi, the astrophysicist who became famous recently when authorities displayed their harshness by preventing him from attending a barbecue given here by President Bush.

He has denounced Marxism and argued that the Chinese party has lost its moral authority. He views the system as well as the leaders as completely bankrupt. Fang is something of a guru to Chinese students and for this reason alone is a worrisome challenge.

At the other end of the growing dissident line-up are advocates of ''new authoritarianism,'' a rather vague concept based on the notion that China is not ready for democracy but needs instead a benevolent dictatorship. That seems backward-looking indeed for a country that traditionally has been ruled by an emperor and where ultimate decisions, for all the display of consensus, are still decided by just one man: paramount leader Deng Xiaoping.

''New authoritarianism'' advocates are not without sound arguments to back up their thinking. They point to the economic successes of Taiwan and Singapore under one-party rule. Basically, they are pushing for the protection of individual rights, although they are not demanding structural political changes, at least not at this stage.